


Genuine

by Phoenixflame3009



Series: Counterfeit [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Bottom Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Digital Art, Drugs, F/F, Horny Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, Prostitution, more deception?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23363257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflame3009/pseuds/Phoenixflame3009
Summary: Angel Dust couldn't stop thinking about that night. Had that really been Alastor? Or a fake? For the sake of his sanity, he needed to know the truth.Sequel to 'Counterfeit.'Update: Now with art
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: Counterfeit [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680391
Comments: 51
Kudos: 376





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to everyone who read, commented, and left a kudos on 'Counterfeit.' Without you, this sequel never would have been possible. I hope you all enjoy!

Angel Dust breathed a heavenly sigh as he sunk deeper into the tub. Fuzzy, rose-tinted bubbles clung to snow white skin with as much warmth and security as a blanket. Off to the side, a bottle of Chardonnay he smuggled from Stolas eons ago sat pretty beside a box of assorted chocolates. One of the spider demon's free hands reached down, snatching up one such chocolate before popping the delectable bud into his mouth. The blend of pomegranate and dark chocolate tasted rotten on his tongue. 

It had been some time since Angel pampered himself like this, and he was determined to relish every second of it. Even if the clawed tub provided by the hotel was anything but accommodating to his form. Angel pointedly crossed and uncrossed his long, long legs, frothy waves raging against the sides of the tub, threatening to spill. 

_This...this is supposed to be relaxing..._

Again, Angel sighed, brow furrowing in aggravation. He only wanted a break. Fifteen minutes of blissful silence and solidarity in his own head. He had planned to catch up on the latest fashion magazine, or maybe fawn again over the shimmery sheen of his newly painted nails. He wanted to think about something, literally anything else besides that night, that bewitching smile and those glowing crimson eyes. 

The way it felt when those dagger-like teeth pierced his skin...

Angel raised a hand against the faded mark, his subconscious guiding his every move like strings on a marionette. He had seen the mark several times already. Blackened blood pooled around the area like a bruise, standing out like a ninth limb against his snow fallen fur. It had taken no small amount of concealer and a smartly worn scarf to keep it hidden. A necessary sacrifice; the last thing he needed, or wanted, was Charlie and Vaggie interrogating him over how and where he received such a mark.

Fortunately, nobody seemed to question it. Charlie beamed and congratulated Angel for finding such a wonderful hobby. Vaggie narrowed her eyes but said nothing, more than likely waiting until the spider was alone to question him. Nifty stopped mid-tidying tirade and patched a stray hole at one end of the scarf. Husk didn't give two shits and made as much known while wiping down the bar. Alastor, he only smiled. 

Well, he was always smiling of course, but something about that particular smile set Angel on edge. Maybe he imagined it. Maybe part of him wanted to believe it really happened. But something about the smile seemed almost....playful.

Alastor was **playing** with him.

With a curse, Angel smacked the box of chocolates to the floor. His precious hog released a surprised snort before quickly becoming transfixed by the fallen treat. Angel fiercely snatched the bottle of wine and downed the remainder of its contents in one single move. It would do no good, he knew. Fancy, aristocrat wine rarely ever had an effect on him outside a pleasant buzz. Angel slouched back in defeat, each of his legs bowing to their respective side. His eyelids grew incredibly heavy as that pleasant buzz slowly overtook him. 

Alastor. Alastor. _Alastor_. No matter how much Angel tried, he couldn't escape the radio demon's iron grip. It made Angel wonder for possibly the hundredth time: did he do it? Had he fucked Angel Dust within an inch of his life only to dangle it over his head? If so, why? It made no sense. If Alastor wanted a piece of Angel, he need only ask. Angel would happily bend himself over that shiny, mahogany desk if only for another taste of that dick. God, how he longed for that dick...

A familiar heat bloomed to life within his lower abdomen. Angel pried open his good eye and found his cock standing unsurprisingly rigid against his stomach. It breached the water like a shark's fin, a bead of precum budding at the tip. Well...he had taken this bath with the intent to relax. 

Angel reached down and wrapped a hand around his aching erection, and for once let his mind take the reigns. 

He imagined himself being back in that shitty brothel. He had thought about that night so many times, always searching for a new hint or flaw. This time, he found himself being pinned firmly against the rickety bed. A sinister chuckle drowned his ears,

_Oh, Angel~_

" _Oh, Fuck_ ," Angel croaked, surprising even himself by the sound of his own voice. The spider spread his legs as far apart as the tub allowed and snaked another hand down. Two lubed fingers pressed against his waiting hole, slipping inside with minimal resistance.

In his own mind, Alastor owned him. Each of the spider demon's arms were contained by a grinning husk of a shadow. One of them forced Angel to watch Alastor drag each of his claws across the bare skin of Angel's thigh. Angel then felt those tiny daggers slip under his mini skirt and come to rest directly over his cock, massaging the dripping head--exactly the way he had that night. 

"A-Al, _baby_....please don't stop....don'tstopdon'tstop **don'tstop** ," Angel nearly screamed in an endless mantra. "I'm _begging_ ya...pleas-"

Angel nearly jumped out of his skin both in real life and in his mind when a surprisingly warm hand came to cup his cheek. It felt so real, realer than anything his frazzled, sex-induced mind could ever conjure. In a voice Angel swore to be too real to be made up, it said:

_Why would I ever think to stop...when you make such enticing sounds?_

Suddenly, everything felt that much more intense; the hand working his aching cock felt warmer, his fingers thrusting that much deeper and harder against his bruised prostate. Angel could distantly feel himself shaking. He had never known pleasure this strong before, and frankly? It scared him. 

When he came, he had just enough sense left in him to grip the edge of the bath. A primal, near murderous scream came unbidden from the spider's lips. His legs bucked and spasmed entirely of their own accord, sending wave after wave of soapy water to the floor. One wave happened to hit Nuggets and sent the swine running with a squeal. 

When it was over, Angel collapsed against the back of the tub in a spineless heap. His chest heaved violently with every drawn breath. His heart, fuck, his heart was beating so fast; even faster than when he did coke. Had.... had he actually _died_ for a second there? 

" _Holy_ shit..." Angel wheezed, still thoroughly dazed by the sheer velocity of his orgasm. Angel couldn't recall the last time he came that hard. Hell, he never came that hard when an actual dick was pounding him. What scared him even more is that he already wanted to experience it again.

That settled it. Angel needed to know the truth, needed to know if it had really been Alastor that night. Up until now, he had been prepared to let it go. He ended up having a good time and that's really all that mattered. But now--now he _needed_ to know. Of course, the spider demon knew Alastor well enough to say he wouldn't give that kind of information willingly. Hmm...

Angel stood once the feeling returned to his legs, pointedly ignoring the not-so-subtle tremor in his thighs. He snatched one of the more pink and fluffy robes he owned and popped the drain of the tub. The spider strutted into the bedroom with all the grace and glamour a porn star could muster, and began to plot.

Alastor wanted to play games? Angel would play, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever just spend a whole day drawing a slutty spider doing slutty spider things?  
> NSFW version: https://www.reddit.com/r/HazbinBrothel/comments/fsq4wg/artwork_for_my_radiodust_fic_genuine/


	2. Middle, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT’S FINALLY HERE!
> 
> I cannot apologize enough for how late this is. I don’t know why, but this one chapter gave me SO MUCH GRIEF. I can’t even begin to tell you how many revisions it went through. I apologize in advance if it seems rushed, I really just wanted to get this out there. Feel free to call me out for any mistakes you find.

  
Alastor hummed a static-riddled ditty, his hand tapping the desk in tune to a rhythm privy only to the Radio Demon. His chin lay propped in the palm of his other hand, crimson eyes diligently scanning the monthly budget. The rest of his desk was objectively bland; lacking the personal effects and sentiments one would usually find--save for a simple farm radio. Alastor paused long enough to take a drag of scalding ebony from his coffee mug, relishing the bitter tang as it met his tongue, and again attempted to understand what exactly he was reading.  
  
  
Alastor rarely entertained the idea of business ownership before. Not in life, certainly not in death. Even during the height of his sordid career as the Radio Demon, Alastor hadn’t owned a single property. Why limit oneself to some hovel when the whole world could be your stage? He did always have a knack for improvising, after all.

  
A static-filled sigh pierced the stillness. Alastor sat back, summoning an elegant fountain pen into existence through thought alone. Oh, well. If learning the many nuances of property ownership guaranteed his entertainment, he would gladly oblige. 

_  
Knock, knock, knock!  
  
_

Alastor's ears twitched and swiveled towards the door. Ah, that must be Charlie. The Princess had mentioned stopping by later on to discuss and spitball ideas for the hotel. Namely, advertising. A shiver raced down the Radio Demon's spine as he envisioned a blindingly colorful billboard over the eastern hellway. 

  
Alastor organized his paperwork into a single pristine stack and set it off to the side. The fountain pen dissolved into flames as if sensing its purpose fulfilled. He folded his hands in the newly cleared space and grinned easily. 

  
“Come in,” 

  
He expected Charlie. He expected Nifty, or Husk. Possibly even Vaggie.   
  
  
He hadn't expected Angel.

  
Angel Dust stepped inside the office space as if he had any claim to it. A filthy grin was already fixed upon his face, his golden tooth glinting in the low light. It seemed today he had forsaken his trademark coat and gloves; opting instead for a sleeveless pink sweat dress. It hugged his body to near suffocation, his fluffy cleavage peeking through a heart-shaped tear. Whether this was purely by design or Angel’s doing, Alastor couldn’t say. He didn’t really care, either. 

  
Angel crossed the room in firm, confident strides. His body carried not an ounce of fear-stink, or if it did, Alastor couldn’t detect it past the pungent cocktail of perfume Angel wore. It both befuddled and irked Alastor, how undaunted and unfazed Angel appeared in the presence of a proven murderer. Perhaps he doubted Alastor could really kill him, or would. 

  
Or perhaps, he simply didn’t fear death. 

  
Angel leaned against the lip of Alastor’s desk and made a point to bat his eyelashes as he spoke, “Oh, Al~…” He moaned shamelessly. “You got any time for lil’ ol’ me? I’ve got a problem I could use your help with…”

  
Alastor raised a brow. This should be interesting. "I suppose I can fit you into my schedule. What trouble ails you, my dear fellow? I'll surely help wherever I'm able, just so long as your request doesn't interfere with your rehabilitation." 

  
Without warning, Angel Dust crawled up onto the desk and reclined across it as one would a chaise. He sighed, woefully. 

  
“See, that’s the fuckin’ problem. I can’t do nothin’ ‘cause of this ‘rehabilitation’ crap. I can’t get high, I can’t get shitfaced, I can’t see my girl buddy ‘cause she’s a ‘bad influence,’ apparently—I can’t even have sex!” Angel spat bitterly. Alastor’s grin widened considerably.

  
“Of course not. How do you expect to be redeemed if you engage in such sinful lore?”

  
Angel rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck off. You and I both know Charlie and Vaggie are doin’ the taco tango every night,” He scoffed, then sighed. “I’ve tried bein’ a good boy and usin’ dildos and shit but it don’t do nothin’ for me. I need somethin’ real, ya know? I’ve got such a bad fuckin’ itch~...”

  
Angel ran a finger down the valley of his breasts, exactly as he had that fateful night, hoping beyond hope it would evoke a reaction out of him. Another hand came to rest just above the heart-shaped birthmark along his inner thigh. Angel’s breathing hitched and he started to tremble under his own touch. He forced his gaze to meet Alastor’s, praying for the first time ever his message was coming across loud and clear.

  
_I know what you did. I know it was you. Even if it wasn’t, I want it to be you._

  
Alastor folded his hands and rested his chin atop them, eyes narrowed in thought. “Hmm. An itch, you say? Well, that's easy enough! I'll have Charlie arrange a doctor's appointment for your straightaway." 

  
“Wha? What’re you—No! No doctors! It’s-” Angel paused and released a slow breath. “It ain’t _that_ kind of itch.”

  
Alastor cocked his head. "I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  
“What I’m tryin’ to say is we’ve both been under a lotta stress: I’ve been cooped up in this crappy hotel and I know Charlie’s got ya buried under a mountain of paperwork. How about we, ya know, help each other unwind?”

  
Alastor arched a delicate brow, a pop of feedback piercing the air. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

  
"How else? With sex," 

  
There was a beat of silence. Then, the slow and cacophonous rumble of a tuning radio. 

  
"I see. You mean to say you and I should engage in intercourse then," 

  
Angel winced. "Yeah, but could ya not call it that? Sounds so…formal." 

  
Alastor hummed to himself and nodded, seemingly mulling over Angel’s offer. He took the time to remove his monocle, dusting each side of the lens using his lapel. "Hmm. I'm afraid I must decline, my dear. Though, do let me know if you wish to see a doctor," 

And without another word, Alastor returned his attention to the paperwork once more, ignoring the gobsmacked look on Angel's face. Desperate, he pressed on:

  
“Al, come on. I know you’ve been workin’ yourself to the bone, and you're tellin’ me ya don't want a break? Not even a quickie in the closet? How 'bout I suck ya off under the desk? We've got options, baby; just tell me what ya wanna do and I'll do it,"

  
"If your wish is to help me, you can start by getting off of my desk and out of my office,” Alastor said without sparing the spider a single glance.

  
Really, Angel shouldn’t have been surprised. Alastor had rejected his advances so many times already. But hearing the words now, spoken so callously, so coldly after everything Angel experienced that night...it hurt. It fucking hurt, and Angel hated him all the more for it. Was this all some game to him?

  
Angel Dust pinned Alastor with a scrutinizing eye. He searched, desperate for something—anything! There needed to be something, a fatal flaw that could prove without question Alastor was being dishonest, that his prim and proper shtick was only for show. Angel even attempted scenting the air for even the smallest trace of arousal. He did everything he possibly could have done without tearing open the Radio Demon’s pants. There was nothing.

  
For once, Angel Dust was speechless. Completely without speech. His mouth hung slack, the only sound to come being the click of his teeth when he snapped it shut. This wasn’t panning out at all like he imagined. 

  
"You...you seriously don't want a piece of me?" 

  
Alastor breathed a solemn sigh, tired and full of static. Clearly, he wasn't going to get anywhere unless he was straightforward. 

  
"Angel," He began, meeting the spider's withering gaze head on. "If I wanted....a 'piece of you,' as you so crassly phrased it, I assure you, I would have bent you over and had my way with you the moment I set foot in this hotel." 

  
With every word spoken, Angel noticed Alastor’s eyes steadily dim until only two ebony portals remained. A bright crimson dial surfaced to the center of each vortex. Angel became helplessly entranced, barely registering the warped static clouding the edge of his peripheral. At least, not until he felt his body being physically crushed by the oppressive atmosphere.

  
One slippery palm came to rest against the edge of the desk, effectively yanking the rug out from under him as Angel tumbled to the floor. 

  
Static and ear-splitting feedback rattled around Angel’s skull. It was a miracle—or a curse—that he hadn’t gone completely deaf. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe with each passing second, and his choice of clothing definitely wasn’t doing him any favors. In that moment of pure madness, all rational thought escaped him, leaving only raw, primal instincts, pleading and screaming at the spider to get away and save himself.

  
He listened. 

  
Angel placed a good twelve feet between them. He refused to stop moving until his back pressed flat against the wall, and even then, he clutched his legs to his chest, making himself appear as small as possible. He watched helplessly through sweat soaked bangs as the scene before him changed. Glowing crimson eyes flickered sporadically between radio dials and heart-shaped lenses. Somewhere, lost in the sea of static, he heard _him_. His praise, his insults, his laughter. He heard him even after he slammed his hands over his ears. 

  
Angel’s eyes snapped open when something touched his shoulder. His first instinct had been to reach for his gun before remembering he had left the damn thing in his room. A fucking stupid move on his part. He had nothing, he was screwed. Angel raised both sets of hands up over his face, body thrumming in anticipation for the first strike.

  
It was pain that never came. Angel opened one eye, looking up to find Alastor staring down at him. Those eyes didn't look pissed off as Angel had expected. Instead, they looked playful. 

  
"Now, was there anything else you were needing help with?"

  
Angel's mouth suddenly felt too dry, and when he attempted to clear his throat, he swore it felt as if he were swallowing sand.

  
"N-no. Nothin' at all,"   
  


* * *

  
Following the aptly named ‘fuck-up fiasco’, Angel kept a wide berth between himself and Alastor. He spent the better half of two days holed up in his room. He didn’t leave for anything, not even food—something Charlie picked up on almost instantaneously. Angel didn’t worry too much. By the time she came knocking, he had already formulated a bulletproof excuse.  
  
  
“I’m sick,”

  
He did feel a tiny twinge of guilt, watching Charlie panic and worry over him. She truly channeled her inner mother hen in that moment; ushering him back to bed, checking his temperature, asking if he needed anything, if he wanted soup, cough drops, anything at all. Angel had been so baffled by the onslaught of kindness he didn’t even remember what he had said. An hour later, however, he discovered a tray of soup, crackers, and warm cookies waiting outside his door. He would later deny having eaten any of the cookies and that some asshole must have taken them—but he wouldn’t mind another plate because, you know, he’s been craving chocolate lately. 

  
Cherri snatched one of the innocent-looking treats from the tray. She cringed harshly at the cutesy-wootsy smiley face that greeted her, construed entirely out of chocolate chips and rainbow sprinkles. Cherri took a small, cautionary bite of the edge, fully anticipating the taste to be something akin to concentrated sunshine. She breathed a small sigh when only chocolate and sugar met her tongue. At least now she knew they weren't trying to poison Angel with happiness serum.

  
Cherri spared a side-long glance at the demon in question. Angel hadn't budged an inch since Cherri found him. Truly, he painted quite the depressing picture; wrapped in his fluffiest blanket, pig clutched to his chest, nursing the bottle of booze Cherri smuggled him. 

  
Despite his sunken demeanor, Cherri felt relieved. 

  
For the first time since meeting the other demon, Cherri hadn't found Angel crying. He wasn't screaming at the world, cursing it for ever having made him a thought. He wasn't throwing everything within his vicinity. He wasn't smashing every mirror that dared to reflect his shame, his weakness, his abuse. He wasn't bleeding out beside the tub, riding the razors edge between life and death. 

  
Cherri swallowed hard against the offensive mental imagery. She crossed the room and took a seat on the bed. Surprisingly plush. As Angel lifted his gaze, Cherri offered him a small, genuine smile. A mere twitch of the lips.

  
"So, you gonna tell me what's been goin' on?"

  
It took a tray of cookies and half a bottle of booze, but eventually, he managed to recount the whole sordid affair. His trip to the Glory Hole, the Alastor look-alike, his encounter with the real Alastor, and of course, the mind-numbing mind fuckery to follow. He left nothing out. Cherri remained deathly silent, nodding when appropriate but saying absolutely nothing. Not until he reached the very end of the tale.

  
"Okay," She said finally. "Lemme see if I got this right: you went out, got fucked, and now you're havin' an existential crisis 'cause you don't know who stuffed your creme puff."

  
"Pretty much. Yeah,"

  
Cherri Bomb nodded, letting the information settle comfortably in her head like a kitten finding a spot to nap. She brought the bottle of vodka to her lips, then paused, 

  
"Okay, but....how is this any different from the other fifty times this shit's happened?" She asked and brought the bottle back, only to have it swiped. 

  
Angel skillfully downed half the bottle's meager contents in one fell swoop, his tongue and throat burning sweetly with the artificial tang of strawberries.

  
Strawberry. 

  
God. Fucking. Damn it. 

  
Angel surrendered the bottle back over to Cherri. If she noticed how he struggled to keep down his lunch, she didn't say. He sighed and ran a tired hand through his locks. "'Cause I ain't never wanted to fuck any of those losers twice," 

  
Cherri knocked back a hearty swig from the bottle. She rested her cheek in her palm, her arm propped against her knee. "Gotta say, I don't envy you, Ang. Of all the scumbags you wanna go for round two with, it's the poster demon of social distancing. How'd you even get 'im in the sack the first time?"

  
"I don't even really know if it was 'im. It don't help he's been givin' me mixed signals, playin' these stupid mind games and screwin' my brains instead of screwin' me," Angel huffed bitterly.

  
"I mean....are you really surprised? It's kinda what he does, babe," Cherri pointed out. "You ever actually listen to one of his shows? Guy's a fuckin' sociopath. Literally, fucks the shit out of his victims brains, makes them beg for mercy, then fucks them some more. Makes that skirmish with Pent-ass look like kid's stuff," 

  
Angel raised a slender brow. "Shit. Really?"

  
"Didn't ya know? I thought you knew everything about everyone, babe,"

  
"If I don't fuck 'em, I don't know 'em," Angel shrugged easily. "Hell, I fuckin’ blacked out when he fucked me and I still don’t know nothin' about him.”

  
Cherri hummed to herself, her dagger-like nails dancing along the rim of the newly drained bottle. Slowly, an idea bloomed to life behind her eye. "Well...what if you could do it again?"

  
"Huh?"

  
"What? Ya deaf or something?" Cherri asked with a light smack to his head. "Go out and do it all again. Exactly the same way."

  
"Che. What's that gonna do? Even if I'm the luckiest ho this side of Hell and Smiles shows up, I won't know it's really him. Bastard's good at coverin' his tracks," 

  
A slow, methodical smile stretched across Cherri's face, her fangs gleaming in the low light. "That's why you're gonna set a trap,"   
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Hey, toots. Can we—“

  
“No,”

  
“You don’t even know wha—“

  
“No,”

  
“Would you lemme—“

  
A sharp snapping sound cut him off. Finally, Vaggie turned to face him, eyes ablaze and borderline murderous as the tips of her bow solidified into horns. Angel’s eyes flicked down, blatantly bored, as the end of a wooden spoon hung mere centimeters from his jugular.

  
“Whatever it is, the answer is no. Get out,” She whipped the spoon in the direction of the door, then turned her attention back to the stove. 

  
Angel ran both hands through his hair, only briefly contemplating taking out a chunk. If given the choice, he would gladly pull teeth than be subjected to another minute of this conversation—if one could even call it that. Based on how tense Vaggie’s shoulders were, it seemed to she shared the sentiment wholeheartedly. So they actually agreed on something after all. Who knew?

  
Angel stole a glance at the window. He could just make out the sun’s dying light as shades of black and blue filtered through the sky. He was running out of time.

  
“You don’t even know what I’m gonna ask,”

  
Vaggie only scoffed. “Knowing you, more than likely it’ll involve drugs, alcohol, sex—oh, and let’s not forget to add ‘territorial genocide’ to the list!”

  
“Oh, for fuc—you’re still harpin’ on about that? Seriously?”

  
“ _Yes_ ,” Her bow curved ever slightly as the tails rippled with every inflection. “You’re the one who tanked the hotel’s reputation. You made Charlie look like a complete idiot—“

  
“That ain’t on me. She’s always been a tool,”   
  
  
“—And let’s not overlook the fact that if not for you, **he** never would have found this place!”

  
Okay, technically speaking, Alastor’s sudden appearance hadn’t been Angel’s doing. It would have flattered him, knowing the Radio Demon came for him and him alone, but that simply wasn’t true. Alastor only came for Charlie.

  
Wow. Okay. Angel definitely didn’t need _that_ mental image...

  
Vaggie leaned back against the stove, arms crossed. “So, why exactly should I be doing you any favors?”

  
“It’s ‘cause I...” _I wanna ride Al’s fat cock until sundown. Geez! Don’t be such a bitch!_ “I got somethin’ I gotta take care of,”

  
“Uh huh. Such as...?” She pressed on. Angel shook his head defiantly.

  
“I’m not sayin’ shit. That’s all yer gettin’,”

  
“Well then, you’re shit out of luck,” Vaggie meandered off towards the cupboards and only returned with two bowls. Angel wanted to vomit right then and there. Jesus, they even ate dinner together? Sappy broads. “Unless you can give me a valid reason, I’m not doing anything for you. End of discuss—“

  
Vaggie’s voice broke with a shrill gasp at the sudden presence of many, many arms around her. She could feel them sliding across her body, the feeling not unlike a serpent securing it’s prey. She registered, numbly, the loss of weight in her hands, and the set of arms that magically appeared in time to catch them. What—

  
“Ya know, babe~,” A voice purred hotly against her ear, sending another wave of revulsion down her spine. “I’ve had ta listen ta you broads moan about how bad sins are. Personally, I think it’s a load of horseshit but hey, what do I know? Right? I’m just a lowly sinner. But I can’t help wonderin’...what’s _your_ excuse?”

  
Angel didn’t even have the chance to blink before Vaggie struck. In the span of a second, or so it felt, she had managed to pry free of his hold, pin the bastard against the nearest wall, and had summoned her trusty spear. When he opened his eyes again, he wasn’t met with her chilling gaze, but rather, the shiny tip of a spear. 

In a mangy voice, she muttered,“¿Qué coño quieres decir?”

Angel could barely suppress his smirk. Hook.

  
“I’m talkin’ about how you popped her cherry. And I’m willin’ ta bet ya didn’t stop there, either. You taught her all sorts of naughty new shit, didn’t ya? Or,” 

  
Another pair of arms sprouted from his abdomen. One dove for her wrist while the other procured a handful of photographs. He took more than a little delight in watching Vaggie’s eyes shrink to pinpricks. 

  
“Is this some crappy photoshop project ya got goin’ on? I mean, I dunno, it seems too real ta—“

  
“ **GIVE ME THOSE!** ” 

  
As expected, Vaggie lunged straight for the photographs. Her spear clattered to the floor with a deafening smack, forgotten—along with her plans of skewing Angel and roasting him over a roaring inferno. 

  
Angel bit back a laugh. Never before had he witnessed the moth demon so...well, flustered. Her face burned a brilliant shade of crimson as all the blood rushed to her head. She didn’t even have the mental capacity to consider strangling him or knocking him to the floor. Angel simply dangled the...promiscuous photographs above his head, watching in unrestrained delight as she attempted to wrench them out of his hands.

  
Vaggie glared Angel down, venom dripping off every word like nectar from a honeycomb. “Where...the hell....did you get those...?“

  
Line.

  
Angel’s smirk turned treacherous as he nonchalantly carded through the collection. “My new hobby. Piano wasn’t really workin’ out, ya know? I’d be more than happy to part ways with a couple’a these beauties...if ya do me one teensy-weensy little favor, first.”

  
Vaggie clenched her jaw so tight, Angel could practically hear her molars screaming. He didn’t doubt how much she wanted to kill him right then. He might have let her if Angel thought she could actually pull it off. 

  
Without warning, Vaggie surged forward. She grabbed Angel by his bow, her voice nothing short of seething as she hissed: “What do you want?”

  
Sinker.

  
“Glad you’ve decided to play nice,” Angel chirped, much to Vaggie’s chagrin. “Like I said, I’ve got somethin’ that needs takin’ care of so I’ll be gone tonight. While I’m doin’ my thing, I need you ta keep an eye on Smiles. I don’t care whatcha gotta do, just don’t let that creepy fucker out of your sight—not even for a second!”

  
“But why-“ Vaggie tried, thoroughly confused and vexed by the request. 

  
“Just don’t let him out of your sight!” Angel shouted as his hands gripped her shoulders. A twinge of desperation sluiced through his voice and he cursed himself for sounding so fucking helpless. 

  
Silence. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop from the fifteenth floor. Angel could almost feel Vaggie’s eyes bearing into his soul, tearing away each layer as easily as flesh off his body. He saw her fists clench, unclench, then clench again. She brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of her nose as she sighed.

  
“One,” She said decisively. “You only get one shot at this. If you decide to be careless and waste it, that’s entirely on you. No matter what the outcome, you’re giving me everything. Every photograph, every video, **everything** you have on me and Charlie. And if I find out you’re holding out on me, I swear to God, I’ll rip off every arm you have. Understand?”

  
A bark of laughter escaped Angel, sounding damn near maniacal. He breathed a short sigh of relief as he could feel a weight being lifted off his chest. “Whatever you say, toots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t already painfully obvious, this chapter was heavily inspired by ‘Addict.’ I actually listened to the song while writing most of this.
> 
> I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this chapter (even if it was a hot mess, at least on my end). Let me know what you guys think down below. I read every single comment!


	3. Middle, Part II

Angel pinned his reflection with a scrutinizing eye, searching for even the smallest imperfection. He was certain he hadn’t overlooked a single trick. Bubblegum eye shadow, check. Eyeliner, check. Enough fruity perfume to kill a man, check.

Somewhat satisfied with himself, Angel slouched back, vainly searching for even the smallest hint of natural beauty and grace—anything to distract him from the bundled knot of anxiety swelling in his chest. 

Angel brought a surprisingly steady hand to his chest. His heart wasn’t beating so much as buzzing like a twelve-gauge vibrator. It reminded him of the time when Cherri dared him to slam four Monsters back-to-back, just seconds after the two polished off an entire brick of PCP. His heart thrummed like a jackhammer for three days straight and constantly he wondered when the heart attack would hit. He was plenty familiar with the feeling, the problem lied with the fact he hasn’t touched a single gram since he settled into the hotel. Something else was making him feel this way.

He definitely wasn’t nervous. He _wasn’t_. Angel didn’t have a single reason to be nervous about something as mind-numbingly simple and straightforward as sex. He was a pornstar, after all; his whole existence revolved around being nailed into the nearest surface. Really, the only time he ever felt anxious about being fucked is when Val entered the picture. 

A shiver raced up the spider demon’s spine as his gaze met the vanity mirror. Memories of the moth demon came unbidden. Namely, the kind where Angel woke up sore, bruised, an empty syringe at his side. He never did figure out what Valentino kept shooting up his veins. Maybe it was better he didn’t. 

“Don’t think, don’t think, _don’t fuckin’_ _think_ ,” Angel cursed in a mantra under breath. Despite this, his hands continued to shake as he clutched the vanity’s edge. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what Val would say if he could see him now, seeking redemption and fucking other demons behind his back—half-radio, half-deer demons, to be specific. 

His blood froze over and blackened as a new realization settled in: what would he do if he even _thought_ Alastor had claimed him? 

One hand flew to his neck out of sheer reflex. Angel swallowed, utterly relieved he could manage something so inanely simple. It wouldn’t be the first time Angel strayed away from Val’s touch, nor would it be the last if tonight was any indication. But if Valentino uncovered the truth, he wouldn’t just take out Alastor, but Angel as well. Whether he wanted Alastor solely for sex or anything more would be irrelevant in Val’s eyes. There would be no forgiveness. There would be no mercy.

“Fuck that,” Angel spat, all but sprinting from the vanity to the open bathroom. He slammed the hot water on full and searched frantically for a sponge, a towel, something he could use to scrub his face raw and remove any trace of make-up. On second thought, he would probably save more time by taking a shower. A really, really hot one. 

Angel nearly finished unbuttoning his jacket when a buzz resonated against his breast, nearly sending the arachnid into a full-fledged panic attack. His mind raced sporadically over a barrage of different scenarios and potential excuses he could use as he reached for his phone. A single text stared back, almost accusing:

_don’t be a pussy, babe_

_you know you’ll regret it if you don’t go_

  
  
  
It was Cherri. It was only Cherri.  
  
  
Angel let his body sink against the nearest wall and dropped down to the freezing tile below. His phone slipped free of his hand, forgotten beside his thigh. Again, he brought his hand to his chest, a steady, albeit frantic staccato there to reassure him he wasn’t dead. Close, but not quite there. Yet.

For quite possibly the first time since the incident, Angel was forced to truly consider the consequences of this ‘game’ and how best to proceed going forward, lest he reap the wrong reward. 

If he decided to nix it now, there likely wouldn’t be any negative repercussions. Granted, he wouldn’t know the truth, but he wouldn’t get hurt either. If he decided to proceed and follow through, he would finally have his answer and, for better or worse, move on with his life. And while it would be nice having reign over his mind again, he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming truth that Val could (and likely would) discover his ‘interest’ in Alastor and decide to take appropriate action. There was simply no avoiding it and to be honest, Angel wasn’t looking to book an early grave...again. 

To someone smarter, the choice was exceedingly easy: don’t die for a meaningless fling. But for Angel, it was complicated. More complicated than a situation of this caliber deserved. No matter how hard he tried to see reason, there remained one glaring fact: 

_You’ll regret it if you don’t go,_

He would. He really, _really_ would. Even if there was a chance this look-alike, Radio Demon wannabe fuckstick wasn’t the real Al, even if Valentino found out and wrung his neck—it was a chance he needed to take. Angel could not stop thinking about that night and likely wouldn’t until he received a solid answer. Nothing else would possibly suffice. 

Angel felt a nudge against his leg, followed by a demonic snort. Fat Nuggets wormed his way into all four of Angel’s arms and settled comfortably in his lap. A warped, purr-like sound emanated from within the hog as he nuzzled against the spider, his scales fluctuating between pitch to luminescent pink as if reflecting his mood. Angel breathed a long, slow sigh as he brought a hand behind Nuggets’ ears and scratched. 

“You and Cherri are gonna be the death of me,” He whispered for no one but the walls. Fat Nuggets only offered a gentle snort in reply. 

* * *

“Heya, gorgeous. Ya lookin’ for a good time?” A voice purred at Angel’s side. “Why don’t you and I go somewhere private? I’ll make ya feel real good~,”

“Your lips are real pretty, baby. I bet they’d look even better ‘round my dick,” 

“Fuck me, is that really _Angel Dust_?” Asked a second voice, followed immediately by a third,

“Valentino must’ve finally kicked his sorry ass to the curb...”

“Mmmm~, I’d love to have him call **me** daddy~”

Angel chewed his bottom lip, visibly struggling to choke back the torrent of venom climbing up his throat. Catcalls weren’t anything new—definitely not for someone of Angel’s profession. Honestly, these amateurs didn’t even begin to compare to some of the more sickly comments he’s received over the years. 

That isn’t to say it didn’t piss him off all the same.

At his side, Angel’s fingers itched, the old urge to reach for the nearest knife and threaten these grinning fuck-sticks into silence flooding his veins, urging him to comply. Angel shook his head, his movements frantic, borderline desperate to the outside eye. He shoved each hand into a pocket, eyes straight ahead, offering not even a sliver of his attention to the scantily-clad bodies hanging off on the sidelines. He wouldn’t grant a single one of these lowly cum-stains the luxury of being acknowledged by a beauty such as he. Only one demon in this entire place, in all of Pentagram City deserved his undivided attention, completely free of charge.

Him. 

Angel paused abruptly beside one demon in particular, each of his eyes helplessly transfixed—spellbound by the stranger and his handsome face. He looked exactly as he had that fateful night; three-piece get-up, drenched from head to toe in mouth-watering crimson, glowing crimson eyes brimming with disdain. Angel sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, this time out of unbridled joy. Angel smoothed out his skirt before taking a tentative step forward, definitely not blushing like a virgin as he did so. Definitely not.

“H-hey...” Angel gasped and strongly resisted the urge to facepalm. 

_Smooth, Angel. Real smooth._

The look-alike merely grinned, each tooth bearing a vague luminescence, bathing the air between them, as well as the feathered tips of Angel’s hair in a sickly golden hue. He reached out for Angel’s hand and placed a gentle kiss against the back. 

“ _Hello, darling~,_ ”

* * *

Angel’s back hit the wall with a resounding thud, the cacophonous slam of a heavily scarred door quick to follow. Angel released a soft, wanting mewl of ecstasy at the mouth assaulting his neck, no doubt erecting a trail of fresh red marks in its wake. For a brief, fleeting moment, Angel paused to wonder exactly how much concealer he would need to cover it all, or if he should inflict a ‘no marking’ policy. His train of thought subsequently derailed at the sudden, but not unwelcome heat of a tongue laving across his pulse, quickly trailing lower and lower. Fuck it, he decided. Angel would gladly wear a scarf for the next month if it meant being ravaged by this beautiful bastard.

The look-alike seemed to agree with the sentiment wholeheartedly. He expressed as much by sinking his teeth into the meat of Angel's shoulder, eliciting a loud (and surprisingly genuine) moan from the pornstar. 

Angel's body moved entirely of it's own accord; one pair of hands raked themselves through the look-alike's silky, bi-colored locks, pausing only to fondle and rub the stems of his antlers; the other busied itself feeling up every inch of ashen muscle and skin hidden beneath his jacket and shirt. His leg--Angel couldn't tell which, his brain awash in a blissful fog--snaked itself around Fake-Alastor's back. Partially to keep the grinning stand-in close, but more-so as a means of leverage as his knees threatened to buckle.

Too soon, Fake-Alastor stepped away, Angel's shuddering and thoroughly debauched body painting quite a lovely view. A sadistic chuckle coated the air, effectively snapping Angel out of his lust-induced stupor. He glared, his tongue primed and ready to verbally lacerate the grinning stand-in for being such a fucking cock tease (despite how very much the gesture reminded him of Al) when he was silenced by a pair of lips against his own. Angel felt his eyes widen. Not at the kiss itself, or the serpent-like tongue excavating his mouth, but of the coppery tang that stung his mouth. 

Blood. **His** blood.

_He actually broke skin this time? Kinky fuck~_ Angel's body thrummed with a full body shudder. He normally didn't favor blood-related kinks despite being a bonafide masochist, but this guy--he would give just about anything. He would give Al just about anything.

Angel wrapped his arms around Fake-Alastor's neck, fully intending to devour the other. A hand cupped his ass and Angel found himself being lifted and carried over to the bed. All the while, neither one broke the kiss, too preoccupied and far too prideful to be the first one to stop. 

A loud (and frankly, worrisome) creak pierced the silence the moment Angel's back hit the bed. He wasn't the least bit worried; if anything, the potential to break the bed from fucking only served to excite him more. Angel snapped both legs across the broad of Fake-Alastor's back and flipped their positions with ease, effectively pinning the other using only his thighs. In spite of it all, the scarlet-demon remained duly unfazed--bored, even. He grinned, lackadaisical, his hands folded patiently above his beating heart. He tilted his head in a manner that screamed 'do your worst, I dare you.' 

Angel flashed the scarlet-clad demon a lascivious grin. Well, if he insisted.

Angel leaned back and clasped his ankles, his back arched into a delicious bow. He gyrated his hips, his movements slow and precise and smooth; snakelike after a century's worth of practice. Angel barely managed to suppress a moan with every slide of Fake-Alastor's cock against his own, against the swell of his ass. 

A scream tore itself free of Angel's chest at the sensation of claws running down his thighs. Angel chanced a glance down and found thin rivulets of crimson running down his legs, starting just below the hem of his skirt. Movement caught his eye and Angel watched, utterly helpless, as Fake-Alastor laved the blood from each finger, savoring the heady flavor like a finely aged wine. A violent shudder raced up Angel's spine. No one, not even a look alike, should be this fucking sexy. 

Angel all but clawed his jacket from his body. He carelessly surrendered the garment to the floor, followed by a pair of heels, a skirt, and lastly, a pair of lacy pink panties, leaving the pornstar primed and bare. 

Angel settled himself back into the other's lap, every eye fixated solely on the stiff, dribbling length trapped between his thighs and something inside of him ached. Abruptly, Angel realized just how empty he actually was. He needed something inside, buried to the hilt and pounding until that familiar itch faded to the back of his mind. 

Without any prompt, or warning, Angel dove down, his pretty pink lips wrapping around the tantalizing length. All sense of tact and class abandoned Angel in that moment. He suckled, loudly. His tongue caressed the weeping head with such vigor, such blatant hunger. Angel distantly registered the sudden sensation of a hand carding through his hair. It neither yanked, nor forced him down as he expected, but seemed to serve more as an anchor than anything. This, accompanied by the soft, subtle hitch in breath above him only served to embolden Angel further. He needed more--so much more. 

Angel pulled off slowly, his eyes trained firmly on the look-alike. He ran his tongue from root to tip before planting a messy kiss against the tip, a bead of precum still clinging to his lips when he pulled away. A poorly suppressed moan told Angel his efforts were, indeed, recognized and very much appreciated. A scarlet-clad hand reached out, supposedly to bring him back down. Angel caught the hand easily and planted a kiss against the back, grinning from ear to ear as he did so. The fake parroted the expression easily.

"Sorry, hot stuff. Much as I love foreplay and all that sappy ass shit, I'm a lil more interested in the main event. But hey, ya fuck me good, I _might_ be willin' to spring for'a sixty-nine," Angel settled himself on his knees, a hand reaching back to line the other demon's cock with his hole. He offered the incredibly flustered look-alike a sultry wink. "Better hold ont'a somethin', babe," 

Angel sunk down onto the hardened length slowly, visibly savoring every glorious inch as he speared himself open. He lowered himself further and further down onto the other demon's cock and showed no sign of slowing until the meat of his ass touched Fake-Alastor's thigh, trying in vain to ignore the crimson eyes burning a hole straight through to his damned soul. 

Angel breathed heavily but didn't allow himself--or the fake--a moment's reprieve; he bounced relentlessly atop the scarlet-clad demon, driving his cock in and out, in and out at a brutal pace.

"Fu--aa- _aah_ , fuckin' fuck me..." Angel gasped around a moan. He dropped down, hard, twisting and running his hips in slow, sensual circles, showing every sign of relish at the sounds he managed to tear from the scarlet-clad demon under him. Even if he was only a look-alike, Angel couldn't deny how enchanting the other demon looked right now. His chest, heaving and dampened with sweat had Angel's mouth watering. He wondered how much better it would look spattered in cum, whether it be his own, Angel's, or both. 

Claws, always claws, pierced his fragile snow fallen skin, ripping and tearing at the top most layer. A scream forced itself from Angel's lungs as hands reached for his ass, the nails drilling deep into his flesh. He would be sore for days, weeks, if not a month after this encounter. A physical reminder of this moment, something he couldn't dull with drugs or liquor. Somehow, that pleased Angel.

" _Ah_ , _ah_ ~! Come....fuuuuck, c’mon, baby, harder....har- _haaahh_ ~...More, baby, _more_! FUCK!"

Angel screeched as a smack resonated against his ass, directly over the newly made welts. Fake-Alastor sported a cheeky grin, his brow furrowed in concentration as he drove his hips deeper into that delicious, satiny heat. Angel's entire body was shaking. He rocked down harder and harder, meeting each one of Fake-Alastor's thrusts with dead accuracy, his pleasure skyrocketing with each strike of his prostate. He was so close--so, so close. He just needed a little more, just a little something to push him over the precipice straight into euphoria.

"Al, babe....s-say somethin," Angel croaked, his voice hopelessly decimated by his pleasured screaming, each word coated and dripping in a blatant hunger. Fake-Alastor didn't immediately acknowledge him, seemingly entranced by the delicious heat enveloping his cock, but when he did, he simply tilted his head. A question. "Forget wha-- _haah~_ ! _Mmmm_ .... _mm_ ....forget what I said...just say somethin', baby, _anythin'_ please..... please, please, please....I need it, baby, _please_..." 

A low, sinister chuckle rang along the edge of Angel's hearing. Angel's breathing hitched as a hand pushed against his shoulder, forcing him down against the stale, mildew-scented duvet. Angel blinked, dazed and confused, his vision warped and unfocused as a splotch of black and crimson loomed overhead. Above him, Angel swore the look-alike's antlers, which originally he suspected of being fake, had grown. They branched out in every direction, reaching towards the sky like a preacher would heaven. Angel reached out a hand to touch the thorny bone, wanting to know again what they felt like.

He paused as a single digit pressed against his lips. 

"Shh, darling, _shhhh_..." Angel's body grew rigid, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. That voice. That damned voice. It was perfect; posh, static-riddled, crooning. It was as if Alastor were truly there, holding him, fucking him, wanting him. "You don't need to plead, dearest. Whatever your heart desires, I'm only happy to deliver. If you'll let me, of course~,"

"A-Al, ah-- _aahhhh_!" Angel, at last, succumbed with a final Hell-shattering shriek. His own cock throbbed violently against his stomach as fat streams of cum painted his breasts, as well as part of his face. A familiar rush of heat sluiced through his body, then settled in the pit of his stomach, leaving him feeling warm and completely free of stress. 

Angel gasped softly as Fake-Alastor slipped free of his body. The corner of his lips quirked into a secret smile at the wet heat dripping down his thighs. He normally never allowed other patrons to come inside him. It often left him feeling used and frankly, gross. But this time, well, he was too happy to argue.

He twisted himself around and, unsurprisingly, the fake had all but vanished into thin air without so much as a 'goodbye.' Honestly, if he hadn't already painted Angel's insides white, he might have chalked the encounter up as a bad drug trip. Or another vividly wet dream. Both sounded equally possible, now that he thought about it.

"Some top-notch bedside manner ya got there, asshole!" Angel cussed at no one except the ceiling. "Shame, too. I was lookin' forward ta tha' sixty-nine..." He muttered crossly, wrapping both sets of arms around himself. 

_I guess I can't really complain_ , Angel thought, a wicked smile nearly splitting his face. _You gave me exactly what I wanted, Smiles._

* * *

Outside, the beginning rays of dawn bathed Pentagram City in a gentle crimson hue. A cauldron of bats flew across the face of a blackened sun, the sound of their disharmonious screeching pleasant to the ear. 

Angel yawned hugely as he approached the Happy Hotel. He stretched each arm above his head until a satisfying crack reached his ears. It had been quite some time since Angel experienced exhaustion as deep as this. Frankly, he didn’t have the slightest clue how he managed to drag himself home without collapsing in a ditch. He didn’t even remember leaving the Glory Hole. 

_Total blackout_ , Angel reasoned, sneaking a peek inside the hotel through a window. From what little he could make out, Husk wasn’t manning the front counter, more than likely sleeping away the morning as well as a hangover. Lucky bastard.

Angel slipped inside the hotel like a serpent, only pausing to wince as the door gave a loud, whining moan. He made a personal note to tell Nifty about it, if only to avoid potential grief from any future sex-capades. God only knew the lecture he would receive if Charlie ever found out. Or worse, her bitchy guarddog.

“You’re late,” 

Speak of the devil...

Angel barely resisted the urge to scoff in Vaggie's face, opting instead for a simple—if slightly exaggerated—roll of the eyes. “Yeah, well, in case ya haven’t noticed, I’m sorta workin’ with a limp over here, sista. It ain’t no cakewalk clearin’ half the city limit in one night,” Angel cast a wary eye across the lobby, half-expecting to find a certain red-haired demon milling about and conducting hotel-related business at the ass-crack of dawn. “Where’s Smiles?”

“Last I checked, he was making a pot of coffee. Him and Charlie were up all night discussing different methods of redemption—not that you would care,” Vaggie muttered, her eyes narrowing into a hateful stare.

“Uh huh, yeah, don’t care,” Angel said rather curtly, finding more interest in his own nails than this conversation, much to Vaggie’s chagrin. “And he didn’t leave yer sight the whole night?”

“Oh my— _yes, you idiot_ ,” Vaggie seethed, her tone laced with deadly exasperation. “I still don’t understand why you needed me to watch him so badly, but I did. Him and Charlie were together the entire night, discussing improvements that needed to be made to the hotel and, like I just told you, potential methods of redemption. Really, I didn’t need to watch him; Charlie kept him thoroughly occupied,” 

Angel opened his mouth to voice a retort, but was swiftly shot down by a raised palm.

“And before you go saying I didn’t fulfill my end of the bargain, I’ll have you know I checked on them every hour. Not because I want the fucking photographs, but because I don’t trust him anywhere near her. Speaking of,” Vaggie held out her hand expectantly. “Hand them over. I want every single photograph you took of us,” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, babe. I know how desperate ya are ta add these ta yer ‘princess porno’ collection,’” Angel groused with a wave of his hand, Vaggie’s heated glare gliding off his back as easily as water.

Angel fished a hand between the valley of his fluffy bosom and whipped out a fan of candid photographs, each containing a stilled image of Charlie or Vaggie in compromising positions. Despite his personal reservations, as well as the fact the photographs did absolutely nothing for him sexually, Angel had to admit, their sex life wasn't the cut and dry transaction he originally thought. He never, not in a thousand lifetimes, would have pegged Charlie playing the dominant role. 

Vaggie, as if sensing his lewd thoughts, cleared the distance between them in three smooth glides, effortlessly wrenching the collection from his lax grip. She had not, in fact, destroyed the incriminating evidence as Angel expected, but instead stowed them safely in her own bra. Angel, for his part, struggled to swallow back his laughter, the overwhelming need to taunt and ridicule the very demon who dared to label him as a pervert. In the end, the most he could manage (without being maimed) was flashing the moth a sly, knowing smirk, the blush staining her cheeks truly a sight to behold.

"I better not find anymore pictures--not of me, definitely not of Charlie. Otherwise, the only thing you'll be deep throating will be that _goddamn camera of yours_ ," Vaggie hissed before turning sharply on her heel and storming off. Distantly, Angel registered a door slamming, to which the spider merely scoffed.

"Uh, **you're** **welcome**! Fuckin' _maiala_ ," Angel muttered crossly before, too, taking his leave. It was far, far too early for him to be dealing with this shit.   
  


* * *

  
  
Angel leaned back against the bedroom door, a deep-rooted sigh spilling from his mouth. One heel went flying across the room, disappearing somewhere behind his bed, while the other he simply toed off beside the door. In the center of the pink bedspread, Fat Nugget’s slept soundly, his tiny hooves twitching as he dreamed pleasant dreams. 

Angel collapsed gracefully beside the sleeping swine with a great, heaving breath. Blindly, he reached for a pillow and buried himself in it’s surface, uncaring of the stains and smudging his make-up left. Screw it. Honestly, screw everything right now. Every inch of Angel was sore, his feet heavily blistered from the walk home. Some runny mascara on a cheap-ass pillowcase were the least of his concerns. 

Angel fidgeted and squirmed slightly, and, as the weight of sleep grew too much to stand, a sudden jolt crawled up his spine, the sensation slow and torturous. Angel, for his part, only uttered a gentle breath, a single eye slitting open. He reached a hand deep inside his jacket and returned seconds later holding something entirely different. Something that didn’t necessarily belong with him, nor his eccentric wardrobe.

It was a simple, leather glove. Soot black, the fingertips dyed a fair maroon. No doubt a must have accessory of the winter season, offering immense fashion and warmth.

Now, was it really considered stealing? In Angel’s humble opinion, no. If anything, he considered this glove to be fair compensation for the lackluster bed-side manner he received. Not to mention it would make for a fantastic keepsake; a memoir from one of the greatest lays he’s ever known. 

Besides, if that sleazy man-whore didn’t want his belongings getting snatched, he should’ve kept a better eye on where he left them. So, there.

Angel slowly brought the garment against his nose. A sensational medley of cinnamon, cloves, and a dash of cayenne flooded his senses, a wave of total calm washing over him, leaving him feeling just the slightest bit tipsy. He flashed a fond smile down at the glove and tucked it away beneath his pillow. 

Again, Angel attempted to find sleep, willfully ignoring the obnoxious pang swelling within his chest. 

_Knock, knock, knock!_

A knock sounded at the door, prompting Angel to raise his head and blink blearily. Really? Sugar pink eyes swiveled over to the dimly-lit alarm clock on his nightstand. Angel reached for the damned box, unintentionally sending a bottle of strawberry-flavored lube to the floor with a deafening smack. Faint crimson light reflected the current time: seven-fucking-ten in the goddamn fucking morning. 

With a mangy-sounding snarl, Angel smacked the alarm clock back down. Beside him, Nugget’s stirred with a tired snort, and Angel felt his annoyance boil over into pure anger. 

_Okay. Ya mess with my beauty sleep, I’ll fuck ya up and plow yer ass ta next Tuesday,_ Angel spat, already making his way towards the door. The Princess’ rules be damned; Angel had every intention, every right to both verbally and physically castrate whoever stood on the other side of the door. _Ya mess with ma_ **_baby’s_ ** _beauty sleep—yer a fuckin’ dead man,_

Angel swung the door open wide, nearly sending the wooden slab flying clear from its hinges. The moment the spider opened his mouth, however, a cold, foreboding chill creeped inside his heart. All sense of anger evaded him, replaced instead by a tirade of abject terror, lust, and above all else, complete and utter _confusion_.

“Good morning, my dear, Angel,” 

Against his will, Angel’s body succumbed to violent, mind-numbing tremors. Inside, he could feel his blood blacken, then completely freeze over, each of his limbs feeling impossibly dead and hollow. He took an involuntary step back, the tendon of his heel colliding directly with the leg of the vanity, causing the usually nimble spider to lose all sense of balance and grace. 

Angel collapsed to the floor in a heap of flailing limbs and sweet-smelling fur. One of his hands had desperately scrabbled against the vanity, hoping it might offer some form of leverage. In the end, he only succeeded in scattering his entire make-up collection across the floor. 

Alastor, for his part, offered only a gentle chortle. He stepped further inside the room, those crimson portals from Hell sending every nerve alight, a pleasant burn overtaking the distressed spider.

When he spoke again, his voice dropped to a low, crooning timbre.

“Pardon the interruption, _darling,_ ” Alastor reached a gloveless hand out towards Angel. “But I believe you have something that belongs to me,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! Thank you all so much for making it this far, your support has meant the absolute world to me. 
> 
> Be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter below (or call me out on any spelling/grammatical mistakes you may find). I read every single comment!


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